Soft
by Valorous Wings
Summary: Orianna began as a mindless machine and everyone treated her as such. But what happens when she grows beyond her programming and old prejudices remain? OriannaX? in future chapters.
1. 1

Summoner Lessa Carin sat in her private quarters across from Orianna, the Lady of Clockwork. At her shoulder was a floating bronze and gold sphere, affectionately called the Ball. Carin's room was smaller than those afforded to her seniors but appeared even more so due to all the clutter, mostly from empty food cartons and textbooks on numerous subjects, wedged open with assorted unconventional items so the current page could be quickly found.

Carin did not like Orianna. She found the automaton creepy. Her expression did not try to hide her disgust either, but the creature never seemed to notice, hence why she wasn't more polite about it. Even creatures native to the Void had feelings and when she summoned them, they often conversed in a scornful manner; Cho'Gath specifically seemed to have nothing but contempt for the young woman, but Orianna's mind was entirely blank. Her soul was pantomimed — stolen from the girl she was sculpted in the likeness of.

Nevertheless, Carin had become something of her official representative to the League, as she had been one of two summoners who conducted her judgment, the other being Senior Summoner Ezekiel Montrose. Her colleagues felt restricting Orianna's interactions to a specific summoner would help her feel more welcome in the Institute of War, but Carin had serious doubts that a being composed of gears and electricity cared either way.

Carin sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, collecting herself. She often had to curb her prejudice when it came to the League's more exotic champions. Physically, Orianna wasn't much different than Blitzcrank, though Carin had summoned the Great Steam Golem on numerous occasions and while he definitely did not think as most organic beings did, he was far less alien than Orianna. He had hopes, dreams, and opinions; Orianna did not, responding to Carin only when she initiated the conversation.

But today was about business only. She had earlier received a missive forwarded from Piltover which included both a newspaper clipping and a secondary letter penned by the esteemed summoner and friend Gregory Merad. The clipping was an obituary, a single paragraph detailing the cause of death of one Corin Reveck and where he had been buried. He had no living family and no known friends, so he had been afforded no service. The letter was a gentle warning that Orianna should be told, but gently. This man was her father, after all.

Carin could measure her words gently if necessary, but she didn't believe Orianna would care either way. Her programming might register the loss of her father as something that she should be sad about, but the reaction would be the same rigid mockery of emotion that it always was.

Not wanting to prolong this conference, Carin pulled the envelope out of her pocket and held it up so Orianna could see it, then held it outward. Rather than take an extra step forward to accept the envelope with the natural length of her arm, Orianna leaned forward and disconnected her torso from her waist. Her upper body maintained an invisible connection with her lower half, and when she accepted the letter from Carin's fingertips, she bobbed back into one piece like a spring.

Carin shuttered at the sight.

Orianna had always had some difficulty with fine motor control, so as she attempted to carefully extricate the letter from the envelope, she instead tore the entire flap off. Undeterred, she used the now more accessible opening to pull out the two pieces of paper and cast her lidless gaze first over the obituary. The mangled envelope fell unceremoniously to the floor. Carin was reminded that she probably should not have let Orianna see Merad's warning, but again, she wasn't trying to spare her feelings.

"My father is dead," the automaton spoke, that distinctive flanging ever present. As Carin predicted, her lipless mouth curled into something resembling a frown, but the rest of her face did not match expressions typically associated with sadness.

"That's right," Carin said with a nod. "You do not live with him so I don't know how often you spoke but… well… you have my condolences."

"I do?" Orianna replied, looking up from the obituary and at Carin. The summoner's eyes widened at bit at that.

"Um… yes. You do. It's unfortunate when a loved one passes." Carin leaned forward, looking more carefully at Orianna's metallic face. "You must be heartbroken."

"Yes. I am heartbroken," Orianna confirmed, but there was no change in the tempo of her voice. She then slipped the scrap behind Merad's letter and read the words contained therein.

"Summoner Merad is concerned for me. That is sweet of him."

In confirmation, the Ball bobbed and chirped.

"He worries about you, Orianna. You've been a champion of the League for months now. You're still very isolated."

"I have tried to make friends," she countered, though her tone was still wholly neutral. "The others do not like me. But that is OK. The Ball likes me."

The Ball whirred in acknowledgment. Orianna giggled and wrapped her arms around her floating friend.

"The resources of the League are available to you. Counselors, for instance. You're also quite famous. Perhaps if you attempted to associate with people outside of the League…"

"They do not understand me. They stare and point," Orianna's voice was now beginning to develop a melancholy twinge, but Carin noticed it was several minutes after the fact. "Even if they act kind, I know they are lying."

Carin sighed and shook her head. She wasn't sure what to make of this but it hadn't been the first time she'd attempted to expand Orianna's social repertoire. Even from the start, the automaton seemed eager to broaden her horizons, as if attempting to make up for the life her template never got to enjoy, which made it a simple task for Carin to find parties and other gatherings for Orianna to attend. As time went on, however, she began to catalogue an ever-increasing number of people — champions or otherwise — who seemed unnerved by her; they were cordial, but dismissive. Others were outright hostile and insulting.

The one champion that everyone believed Orianna could find some common ground with was Blitzcrank, but even he seemed perplexed and ultimately frustrated by the clockwork girl. In her first month with the League, Blitzcrank had quickly assembled a comprehensive "humanities" course for Orianna, scheduled for their leisure time. While Orianna could easily record and recite the information Blitzcrank relayed, she could apply none of it to an actual social gathering. Her mannerisms were still as stiff and unusual as ever. The two eventually ceased their interaction due largely to Blitzcrank's frustrations. The other, more personal reason, was that Orianna no longer felt welcome.

"Thank you, Lessa," Orianna spoke after a moment of silence. Her arms disjointed and reached behind her back, winding up the large key protruding from her shoulder blades. "I will let you get back to your studies." With that, Orianna's upper body turned toward the exit, followed shortly by her lower body, and walked out of Carin's room.

For the first time since Orianna's arrival, Carin felt sorry for her. She couldn't help but feel that the automaton was beginning to finally develop some of that long-sought sentience, but because of her extraordinary circumstances, she had no one to help her cope. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to bring the question before the counselors one more time…

* * *

><p>Orianna's metal heels clattered down the wide halls of the Institute of War toward her own room, passing numerous people as she did. Most avoided her; those that didn't seemed engrossed in another activity and didn't notice her at all. Her room was in a somewhat isolated section, shared with secretive champions by the likes of Ryze and Malphite. Each room was customized for the needs of the champion, many of which possessed unique anatomies that required exotic architecture or reinforced floors.<p>

In Orianna's case, her room was oval-shaped and the door had no visible handle. Instead, it possessed a tiny keyhole in the center, which unlocked as Orianna ejected a key from her right index fingertip, the digit parting bilaterally. Heavy metal locks parted and the door slowly cranked open, allowing Orianna and the Ball entry. It shut by itself a few moments later.

The Ball seemed happy to finally be alone with its mistress. She hugged it, cooing affectionately, and let it drift over to a small platform in the far south-eastern corner. It lowered itself upon a cartridge-like device and began to recharge. Orianna passively observed her friend for a moment before winding her key yet again and walking away.

This space was all Orianna could truly call her own. She had no furniture to speak of, just numerous bookshelves and dozens of canvases either pinned to the wall or resting in easels, each with an exquisite painting of primarily bright, warm colors. Most of Orianna's books had to due with topics about socialization, fraternization, how to read body language, and other human-centric topics. Scholastic information was unnecessary, for her father had programmed her with knowledge on virtually every topic imaginable. She ran her fingers across the spines of several stacked books then, taking note of their titles and recalling the effort she had personally put forth in becoming more like the first Orianna. That her father hadn't thought to craft Orianna more like his first daughter in both personality _and_ appearance was… frustrating. She sighed.

Orianna reached behind several books and extricated a hidden one, more personalized than the published tomes. The spine was laced with twine and the cover was soft leather. She grazed her hand across it and smiled, then skipped back underneath the window and sat down on the floor. Her sharp metal skirt prevented her from leaning back against the wall, so she adopted an Indian-style sitting position.

Nearby was a small duffle bag filled with art supplies, and resting against the wall behind it was an unfinished painting of what appeared to be a family. She took from the bag a pencil, tapped the tip against her pliable but completely dry tongue, and flipped to a blank page.

"Dear diary…"


	2. 2

"Dear diary…"

Orianna's words were written in perfect cursive, and the margins between each letter were immaculate. Her handwriting was flawless, the sort that no living thing could ever hope to duplicate.

"I am writing this entry prematurely, for the day is not over yet. I do not think it will be any different than yesterday, however, so I see no reason to wait."

The servos in Orianna's hand compressed and she broke the pencil she was holding. Dropping the two halves back among the other art supplies in her bag, she pulled out a fresh pencil and continued writing. Orianna's strange jerks were uncontrollable but she could predict them, and when writing she was careful to move the pencil's tip off the page before destroying the implement.

Why she didn't just drop the pencil before destroying it was anyone's guess.

"My father died today. I have made no friends. I know what I should be feeling but I do not."

Orianna had read about sadness and what commonly caused it a hundred times. Many of the samples given were events that she had experienced, but she could never recall the melancholy that should have accompanied them. Then again, she did not know what "melancholy" felt like, but considering how rarely she felt anything, she was certain that her written statement was accurate.

Her self-awareness, however, _was_ growing. When she was first activated by her father, she did only what he had programmed her to do. She recalled little of that experience, viewing it as similar to birth. Later, she arrived at the Institute of War and received her judgment. Those memories were also foggy but if she focused hard on them, she could remember most of the events and the people who were involved. Further interaction with individuals like Lessa Carin helped shape and bring form to those chaotic thoughts.

Weeks past and she began to experience the world of her own accord; no programming told her what to say or do. Still, she used those instructions as the basis of what she considered her personality, and she had hoped that her efforts would, in time, be recognized and appreciated by her fellows.

But even that was miniscule compared to what Orianna now was; what she had evolved into. She often caught herself daydreaming, wanting to go on walks around the Institute to admire the scenery, and in time, she desired to express herself artistically. She did this by curving delicate, gorgeous swaths across canvas with her paint brushes, a talent that she became remarkably adept at. These were not personality quirks as programmed by her father, but what were they then? Orianna did not believe it was true sentience as she so longed for because no one else who had that seemed to notice.

Orianna snapped another pencil in half and replaced it just as quickly. She held its tip over the last sentence for several silent minutes, debating what next she should write. But all she could think about was what, in her mind, was a total lack of progress… and Carin's expression earlier.

Disgust. Hatred. Anxiety. She had read about all of them and identified each the moment she stepped into that room.

Orianna's brow furled, she grimaced, and in frustration she hurled her diary across the room with force enough to punch a hole through one of her completed paintings. Gasping, she hurried over to the canvas and gingerly attempted to fold the tatters back into place. When it was clear that her efforts were in vain, a croaking, whimpering sound echoed from her throat…

Her head snapped in the direction of her bookshelf then, and she dashed over to locate one particular book on the topic of grief and mourning. Orianna knocked aside a dozen others in her frantic search, and when she finally located it, she opened it so fast that the spine broke.

She heard herself make that sound again.

Now in a near panic, Orianna flipped through the splayed pages, looking for a particular illustration. It was of a young woman crying, tears falling down her face. When she found it, she examined the picture closely, then looked down at her own silvery forearm, using its reflective surface to view her face; her expression was similar. Her eyes were curved downward, her mouth was pouting, and she could now duplicate that sound at will. But despite how close she believed she was to true sadness, she saw no tears. The woman in the book was performing a wholly biological action, and when she discovered yet another limitation, her face contorted into something far less sympathic.

In a fury, Orianna hurled that book across the room as well. She threw her shoulder into the bookshelf, shattering the wooden shelves and scattering the remaining books. She punched a hole in the wall, toppled the closest easel, and stomped her feet so hard that she split a fissure from that side of her room to the other.

Then she screamed. It was a bloodcurdling, reverberating noise that would have pierced the eardrums of anyone overhearing her tantrum. She maintained the awful drone for nearly a minute, and only stopped when she inadvertently attuned her voice to a pitch that shattered the glass of her solitary window.

Orianna's concentration broke then. She examined the damage she had caused from afar, then looked at the destruction around her. She made no further sounds or motions, she simply stood amongst the wreckage of an emotion she could not identify. She knew not how long she stood there, but eventually she felt a gentle nudge on her backside. Turning, the Ball had left its recharge station and was examining her with its telescopic probe. If it could express concern, it was certainly doing so.

"I am all right," she offered, though she knew it was a lie. That also confused her, for now she was attempting to offer condolences through falsehoods. Three emotions in less than an hour. The Ball hummed and floated away, seemingly sated.

"How did that happen?" She asked herself out loud, still visibly shaken. Perhaps it was time to pay that counselor a visit. Lessa had brought the subject up on numerous occasions but Orianna, despite her desperation to fit in, had never taken her up on the offer. She assumed the worse possible outcome, after all, no one else had ever been able to help with her problems. Why would this person be any different?

If there was one thing a mechanical mind was good for, it was making quick decisions. Orianna turned and headed for the door, unconcerned with the disaster she was leaving in her wake. On her way out, however, she once again took notice of the ruined painting and her diary, discarded on the ground behind it. She stooped over and picked it up, carrying it with her under one tightly-clenched arm.

The Ball was aware that its mistress had left but did not attempt to follow. If Orianna had wanted to bring it along, she would have.

Orianna traced a path back toward Summoner Carin's room. She did not know where the counselor was herself, so she decided to inquire. She would hide her newfound dislike for the summoner for the time being, a courtesy that hadn't been reciprocated.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, a tiny discus-shaped device bled away camouflaged colors and dislodged itself from its position on the upper right wall of the hallway Orianna traversed. It flew silently back toward the barracks and landed in the open palm of a cloaked man wearing a metal mask. One large spaulder was visible beneath his cloak, as was a gangly third arm that observed the drone over his shoulder. The man passed this superfluous limb the techmaturgical staff he held and began to analyze the data contained therein.<p>

"An immortal body," Viktor, the Machine Herald mused, regarding the recording of Orianna and the data points that scanned and relayed information about her known strengths and perceived weaknesses. "I would trade my petty emotions for that if you would simply ask."

He turned on his heel and approached Orianna's bedroom door. His optic sensors scanned the lock and found it pathetically archaic; accessing her room would be child's play. But he wasn't interested in her possessions, rather what had caused her to overreact. Deciding to play it safe for the time being, he threw back his cloak and deposited the drone on its clip, then dispensed a smaller, spider-like variation from a tubule on his belt.

"Your humanity will only burden you further," he continued, the robot skittering down his palm and into the lock. It easily squeezed through the narrow gap and found an unassuming location within Orianna's room from which to observe her behavior. "I will be available with my offer when next it does."

With that, Viktor walked away, his eyes set on a prize he himself was unable to recreate, but now believed he could steal.


	3. 3

It was five in the afternoon. Summoner Lessa Carin was finished with her daily tasks and had hoped to tarry the rest of the day away with relaxing music and evening drinks. It was not easily explained to those on the outside looking in how difficult it was to not just learn the summoning arts, but perfect them. Constant practice was necessary, for the knowledge had a mysterious habit of fleeing memory or changing from how it was previously performed. It was not thought of as the most complicated magical craft unjustifiably.

Further, each summoned being (in this case, the myriad champions of the League of Legends) had their own universal attunement that changed from day to day. This information was magically extracted from them and relayed to crystalline storage capacitors located in the deepest recesses of the Institute. Any summoner had access to this constantly shifting information via personal crystals worn around their necks, but very few had direct access to the databanks.

Today, Carin had participated in two Summoner's Rift matches and one on the Crystal Scar, and each match required her to relearn the summoning practices of the champions she personally called upon. The first had been Irelia, a personal favorite. The Ionian was majestic, beautiful, and graceful. The second had been Malzahar; mysterious, eerie, and sinister. The incorrigible third had been —

"Lessa!"

Carin snapped out of her reverie and shot up from her chair. Startled, a book clattered out of her lap and she hastily gripped the two halves of her bathrobe together, but once she realized who her visitor was, she signed and slumped back into her seat.

"Orianna. Has no one ever told you about knocking?"

"I am distressed! I cannot be expected to adhere to courtesies!"

Carin looked at her guest through splayed fingers, her curiosity piqued. "Distressed? You jest. You don't get distressed."

Though had she not known better, that would be how she would currently describe the automaton. Her glowing eyes were panicked and her mouth was heaving, as if subconsciously mimicking the sensation of being exhausted. Orianna did not have lungs, so that was truly a strange sight.

"I need assistance!" Orianna continued, her voice shrill and her arms wild. Carin noticed the book held in her hand and she returned to her feet. "Why do you not believe me?"

Carin was taken back by that. Orianna clearly had little faith in the woman she was confiding in now, but obviously thought there was no other choice. It was a truly frightening sight to see the immotile machine suddenly so full of… well… life.

"I believe you," she said after a moment of her brain struggling to rationalize what was occurring. "What do you need?"

"You said you would get me an appointment with one of the League's counselors. I wish to take you up on that offer."

"All right, that's easy enough. I'll send a letter to the office now, and you should hear back from them tomorrow." Carin was pacing slowly around the clockwork girl now, her former look of incredulousness replaced by curiosity. It was like she was witnessing life blossom before her eyes. She wondered if this was what the Zaunite researchers felt when they observed Blitzcrank becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time. Again, her attention shifted to the book Orianna held. "May I ask what book you're holding?"

Orianna possessively shifted her grip to tightly clutch the book against her chest. "It is private."

"Private? Is it a scrapbook?"

"You are nosy!" Orianna exclaimed and took her leave. "Please send the letter out as soon as possible!" She shut the door loudly behind her.

Carin chuckled, relating Orianna's actions to a young girl shyly keeping proof of a crush away from her mother. It was endearing and wholly unexpected. What had caused such a drastic change in the automaton in the short few hours since last they spoke? Though she wasn't entirely convinced Orianna was miraculously becoming a person, she would eagerly watch the events unfold. Perhaps one day she'd even offer an apology?

* * *

><p>Orianna spent the rest of the night underneath her shattered bedroom window. There were countless free services available to champions such as herself, and had she the wherewithal to ask, she could have had her damaged domicile repaired and tidied up in minutes. But she wasn't thinking about that at the moment; she was afraid to do anything but sit in that one spot and impatiently await the next day.<p>

For nine hours Orianna did nothing but periodically wind her key and hug her knees to her chest. Her diary sat nearby, a small space cleared for it where there was no glass or wood pulp. She did not require rest in the truest sense and spent most evenings wandering the grounds of the Institute. The Ball, however, was only partially clockwork; its components also required electricity, so it did need "rest", which it was getting now. Orianna typically left it behind when she went on her nightly excursions.

The sun was beginning to rise. She looked up at her windowsill and saw motes of light begin to poor in, only now realizing that she should contact someone to repair the damage she caused the day prior. And perhaps add furniture… Jessa had a nice armchair…

Orianna began to scout potential locations in her room for comforts she did not require, but perhaps future guests would appreciate. She had no intention of ceasing interaction with her fellow champions. On the contrary, she wanted to see how they reacted to her now that she had experienced some of the emotions they'd known their entire lives. Before she merely faked what she couldn't do and that was why they avoided her. But things were different now and hopefully they would be able to recognize and appreciate how much progress she had made.

Another hour past and Orianna was becoming restless. How much longer would she have to wait for this courier? She was debating leaving her bedroom and scouring the Institute of War for this counselor's office, then continuing her wait in front of it.

Before she could decide one way or the other, Orianna felt a tug on her chest and her perception lurched forward. She knew what this was before it finished: She was being summoned. The stop was always sudden and intense, and she heard that it was just one of many things organic champions struggled to grow accustomed to, but she never had trouble with it. Being slain on the field was also a non-issue, for she felt no pain and held no fear.

At least, she didn't use to.

Orianna hadn't participated in a match for several days, before her more intense epiphanies. Worse came to worse, her summoner would be able to take control should she find herself incapable of continuing.

"_This was scheduled around your appointment, Orianna,_" the voice in her head spoke. Orianna recognized it immediately as Lessa Carin, and despite her lingering animosity for the woman, she was becalmed. "_Don't worry, I've put a lot of thought into our talk yesterday. I'll go easy on you_."

Orianna said nothing, but was directed to spend her starting coin on a Doran's Ring, which dissipated into her hand upon selection. She was then guided to the middle lane, walking past several recognizable champions: The burly and confident Pantheon charged to the top lane, followed closely by the stalwart and brave Poppy. Neither of them shared her interest.

The two champions who maneuvered to occupy the bottom lane she did not recognize. One was a yordle, like Poppy, though like most males of that species, he was covered in mahogany fur and wore a maniacal grin on his face. His teeth appeared so large that she wondered if he was capable of closing his mouth at all. In either hand he held two lit explosives and on his back carried an overstuffed knapsack containing even more ordnance.

The second was a cloaked figure wearing a metal mask and carrying a techmaturgical staff in his hand. He looked squarely at Orianna as she passed, his yellow eyes beaming. "Good luck, dear girl."

Orianna did not stop walking but responded with a polite nod. He seemed nice.

**WELCOME TO SUMMONER'S RIFT**

Orianna stopped beside her tower, feeling the reassuring presence of the Ball. The two shared a link that transcended friendship and camaraderie; she knew when it was nearby, what it was experiencing, and could command it without words, though she usually intoned a phrase when utilizing one of its many functions.

On the other side of the lane, shrouded by the fog of war, was a figure recognizable no matter the distance. Kog'Maw, the Mouth of the Abyss, was a repulsive little toad that Orianna had the misfortune of encountering on numerous occasions. When not vomiting up green slime that impacted with force enough to punch holes in steel, he was drooling like a loon and insane with the idea of being freed from his summoner's control. A moment would be all he needed to devour everything in sight.

**MINIONS HAVE SPAWNED**

A short time later, the troop of mindless dolls shuffled past and began engaging in rudimentary combat with one another. Both she and Kog'Maw moved forward as well, taking shots at weakening minions and adding the dropped coin to their personal coffers.

"Mmm… robot girl…"

"No," Orianna said immediately.

Kog'Maw spat another glob of goo at a minion, slaying it. "Me not say anything!"

"You want to eat me."

"… How you know?"

Orianna sighed and skipped another star-shaped blade from her skirt, her precision infallible. These weapons were produced by the clock-like construct encircling her waist, each razor-sharp point instantaneously refreshing with a metallic _clang_. She did not have this unlimited supply outside of the field, however, and because of that, used them sparingly.

Kog'Maw drifted too close for comfort, and Carin directed Orianna to strike. That command was relayed from Orianna to the Ball, who shot forward and split open at its circumference, a whirling blade spinning around and landing a clean strike on her opponent before sealing up again. Kog'Maw yelped and moved away, but the Ball remained where it fell.

"Robot girl mean! Me hurt!"

Orianna had only a moment to register the thick ball of ooze belched from Kog'Maw's proboscis, rolling toward her quickly and gumming her feet to the ground. Another order was relayed to the Ball, who returned to its mistress and began to orbit around her, enveloping her in a translucent shield. She began to retreat, and for good reason, as another champion she didn't recognize bounded from the bushes, riding atop a giant boar. The bikini-clad woman swung a gargantuan flail overhead and screeched a war cry as she approached, attempting what was known in summoner parlance as a "gank".

"Pulse!"

A surge of energy emanated from the Ball, centered on Orianna's location. The ethereal blades — shaped like a ticking clock — broke the ooze hampering her movement and provided her with a momentary burst of speed, enough to get her back to the safety of her tower. The warrior woman noticed the aura on the ground too late and drifted slightly into it, her boar bucking and grunting as its momentum was stalled.

The tower flared in response to this intruder and from its peak launched a thunderous blast of energy that struck Sejuani with such force she was thrown violently out of Orianna's trap, which vanished shortly thereafter. Sejuani cursed her luck and retreated back into the jungle; Kog'Maw looked equally perturbed.

"Robot girl cheated!"

"The Ball is angry," Orianna droned, and in response the Ball was propelled forward again, smacking the nearby Void being and thrumming with power. A powerful shockwave boomed from its location then, catching Kog'Maw in its gravity well and flinging him closer to the tower. This seemed to hurt him considerably, though it was the ever-vigilant tower that dealt the killing blow.

In his death throes, Kog'Maw began to spew purple sludge and grew increasingly emaciated. He ran around aimlessly for a few seconds before exploding in a shower of caustic slime, some of which struck Orianna and began to dissolve the silvery metal that composed her body.

Orianna looked at the grievous pits sinking into her arm and thigh in awe. Again, she felt no pain but that wasn't what fascinated her. It was that she could receive wounds that would have threatened the life of most anyone else but rather than fear for her life, she was merely interested in what came next. As if in response, Kog'Maw's acid ate entirely through her left forearm, and the smoldering limb detached and dropped to the ground. Her left leg also gave out, most of her knee joint completely missing. Carin took this as a good time to seek repairs, and Orianna was enveloped in numerous encroaching white rings…

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Orianna found herself returned to her bedroom. Her team had been victorious, and before the enemy nexus was destroyed, Carin informed Orianna that the courier delivering the message of her appointment would arrive shortly. Still in a daze from the events of the battle and her unique perspective on critical injuries, Orianna almost didn't notice when someone began knocking on her door.<p>

Certain she knew who it was, Orianna shook off the memories of her melting extremities and activated the mechanism that wheeled open her cog-like door. Her hand was already extended and the words "thank you" were on her lips, anticipating the courier's letter.

"Hello again, dear girl. We haven't been properly introduced. I am Viktor."


	4. 4

"Hello again, dear girl. We have not been properly introduced." The mechanical man extended his hand. Viktor had not forgotten simple proprieties despite his best attempts at excising as much humanity from himself as possible. For the sake of conversation, it often helped to fabricate the emotions he lacked. "I am Viktor."

Orianna lifted her arm over her head, then cranked her shoulder and forearm down at choppy intervals. She limply returned the handshake, then looked nervously up at her guest, seeking approval that she had performed adequately.

Much to her surprise, Viktor nodded and politely welcomed her awkward gesture. Had she finally met someone that she could relate too? A potential friend that wasn't the Ball? Orianna beamed.

"It is nice to meet you. I am Orianna."

"A pleasure," he offered. "May I enter?"

Orianna looked shocked at the question, and what remained of Viktor's physical face grimaced behind the mask grafted to his skull. She was created with everything he so desperately sought, but would throw it all away for human attachments and concerns. It sickened him to the point that he began to squeeze her still-clasped hand harder…

Orianna was shocked because her home was in no condition to accommodate visitors. She owned no furniture for him to rest in, no refreshments to offer him, and the ground was rife with clutter. She was embarrassed at the mere prospect of her first houseguest seeing such disarray, and was about to ask if they could instead discuss whatever business he had in the hall. When she turned back, her distant attention returned to her stiffening hand, which was being squeezed ever tightly in his weaponized grip.

"Please release me," she asked, certain it was a simple misunderstanding.

Viktor's senses returned to him and he obeyed her request. Though he felt no remorse for his actions, he nevertheless spoke an apology. It was neither the time nor the place to force himself upon her and take what he so desperately sought. He was certain he could overpower Orianna considering all of her ability resided within her spherical guardian, which was recharging harmlessly on its pedestal a short distance away. But in the Institute of War? With dozens of champions and summoners capable of teleportation prepared to offer her aid? It was an outrageous risk and one he was unwilling to indulge.

"It is all right. May we speak in the hall?"

"After you." Orianna stepped past him, her door shutting itself behind her.

"Again, I apologize for my rudeness. It isn't always easy to control myself."

Which was a lie. Viktor had flawless control over his finely-calibrated servos. The technology that comprised his body was true techmatugical genius, not crude clockwork. But he saw the joy in Orianna's face. Again, he had said something that allowed her to bridge a connection with a man she felt truly shared her struggles.

"I have the same problem." Orianna flexed her hands, recalling many instances when she would forget to wind her key properly and causing her finicky gears to spasm. It was a wonder that she didn't have more mechanical issues considering her father was now deceased and the only person alive who had any concept of her inner workings was herself. Performing maintenance on herself, however, was both cumbersome and risky, and she often procrastinated for fear of doing more harm than good. "I have the schematics for my chassis and ninety percent of other manufacturer specifications on memory. Perhaps we could assist each other in upgrades?"

Viktor mused on her naiveté. "That sounds wonderful. But why only ninety percent? Did your maker not see reason in providing you with the remaining ten?"

"The remaining ten is my heart. Father did not elaborate further."

"Ah, well, no matter. Your 'father' had a reason, I'm sure."

But the reason was obvious. What Orianna called her heart, Viktor knew to be the Infinity Gear, and it was the sole reason he was interested in an elegant but otherwise unimpressive doll crafted in the facsimile of a dead teenage girl.

The Infinity Gear was so rare that Orianna was the first recorded case of it ever being constructed and implemented. The renaissance techmaturgists who theorized it and conceptualized how such a thing might be created believed that the resources required were impossible to obtain. Corin Reveck, an otherwise unremarkable Piltovian engineer, was undaunted in his mad quest to recreate his deceased daughter; the result of his obsession was equally impossible. It was objectively more impressive than Zaun's — Viktor's — creation of Blitzcrank, which was entirely accidental.

"Who was your father?" Orianna asked with enthusiasm. It was clear that she didn't know the truth of Viktor's unique circumstances, and once that dawned on him, he quickly corrected her. After all, lying about common knowledge would only serve to foster distrust. Further, he wasn't ashamed of his ascension. He was proud of the man he had made himself into.

"I am my own father, dear girl. What you see was crafted by these very hands. I was born a mere man and once I realized how limiting flesh was, I reordered myself."

"You… are human?"

"I _was_ human," he corrected her. "I am now so much more."

"You had feelings. Do you have them still?"

Another lie. "Of course I do. I did not relinquish my humanity, I removed the weaknesses inherent in mortality. I will live forever. As will you."

"I do not see that as a good thing," came her response, one that baffled his augmented mind. "I do not want to live forever as I am."

"A god?" He laughed. A real laugh. One of the rare moments where his bygone humanity bled through. "The future walking in the present? You and I are of superior stock, Orianna. You by virtue of creation, and myself because I had the foresight to strive for something more."

"Is this why you came to visit me? You want to be more like I a—was?"

"No. I came to visit you because I saw someone like myself and wanted to make a friend. I am misunderstood by many, dear girl. Even if you and I have our differences of opinion, I believe we can find common ground."

Orianna looked skeptical. It was true that Viktor was a rare being, like herself; one of a modest number of people more metal than muscle. In that they should have been compatible; friends without reservations. But he wasn't trying to befriend her in the customary sense that she had been taught. He was sententious and overbearing, almost evangelical. It was like he was attempting to convert her to some inscrutable cause that would only be made known after she was drinking the proverbial fruit punch.

But Orianna was _desperate_ for friendship. Viktor had actively sought her out, seeking something. Even if it wasn't camaraderie, he had still made the attempt and she could not ignore that. What were the odds that someone would go that extra mile again? Who else had the experience to know that her circumstances were unique and that they bequeathed a number of insecurities?

"I want to be your friend too."

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, clapping her on the shoulders. His third arm accepted his staff beforehand, and Orianna observed it somewhat distastefully. But who was she to judge? "You and I will make waves, dear girl. I know it."

Orianna did not know of that metaphor but agreed emphatically to avoid a protracted explanation. Their mutual attention was directed at an approaching man then, a human in his early twenties. He wore a blue blazer and brown trousers, and slung across his shoulders was a double-latched satchel. He cleared his throat to avoid interrupting (and possibly angering) the two titans before him.

"Uh, miss?" Clearly uncomfortable, he held out an unsealed missive which Orianna swiftly accepted. Her excitement over her counselor's appointment had dulled somewhat since Viktor grabbed her attention, but she hadn't forgotten the importance of it.

"Thank you," she modulated, and the courier appeared ready to reply before he caught an eyeful of Viktor's piercing yellow glare. Intimidated, he scurried off, a pace far more brisk than before.

"We will continue our discussion later. You have an appointment to keep." Viktor's third arm passed back his staff and he offered a polite bow. "Good day, dear girl."

Orianna curtsied. "Be well, Viktor."

The flap was lifted and the letter extracted before her new friend was out of view. It hadn't been sealed because it was clearly written very recently and sent out as if Lessa Carin informed the receiving counselor of an emergency. Orianna quickly scanned the document, committing the information to memory. Her right hand began to stiffen and she pulled it away; the convulsion would have shredded the precious letter.

Her appointment was scheduled for noon. Orianna had a perfect internal understanding of time and did not dawdle. The address provided wasn't terribly far but if she tarried she could have been a few seconds late, and that was surely not acceptable for any professional.

She was only a few meters away from her door before she froze in place, a piece of errant information drifting back into mind: How had Viktor known she was expecting a letter from a counselor?


End file.
